Chains
by sapphermine
Summary: AU. A what-if story where Jack failed, Oz is his illegitimate son, and Vincent, not Gil, was the one who met Oz first.


All I wanted was to write a story about Oz and Vincent—I never really intended for it to end up like this. This isn't going to be an epic. I don't even have a plot for it, at least for now. So, until that plot appears, this will just be series of one-shots in the same alternate universe. So with that, I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nope.

**Chains**

Cold and alone. And darkness.

The only companions he should have. Gil was better off without him; he, who was a Child of Misfortune.

Many, many years ago, back when they were still children, Vincent had vowed to destroy everything that would hurt his brother. And if he, himself, were to hurt Gil the most, then he would have to destroy himself before he could hurt his brother.

Yes, this was the right thing to do. This was what he should have done right from the very beginning. He should have left Gil, should have let him go. Here in the cold, in utter darkness, this was where he belonged.

"—y! Hey mister! Mister! Why are you sitting in a place like this? It's dirty, you know! And it's raining like it's end the of the world. You should go to a dry place, at least! Hey, hey, mister! Mis—,"

Why couldn't he be left alone? "Shut up. Go away, filth."

Suddenly, the darkness and harsh rainfall stopped. Vincent looked up and saw deep, emerald eyes peering down at him.

The stranger was a boy, a child of around his thirteenth year. He had amber hair and pale, flawless skin and his eyes—they seemed to see everything.

Vincent hated him on sight.

Smiling cruelly, he grasped the handle of his gun and pointed it at the boy, "Get out of my sight, boy. Leave, before I make you."

The boy, however, after the initial shock of seeing the gun, still stood his place. Straightening, taking the shelter of his umbrella with him, the boy asked, "You say you want to be left alone, but your eyes don't say the same thing to me. Are you sure you want me to leave, mister?"

Struck speechless by the words, Vincent held still, staring with wide eyes at the boy before him.

He was often called cruel and merciless, often called a bringer of misfortune, and yet, despite his apparent nonchalance about it, despite his apparent acceptance of it, deep inside himself, he hated what he was, he hated what he had done to himself, what he was putting himself into.

It had only been Gil who constantly saw through him. And yet, this boy...

He couldn't accept it.

Pulling the trigger, he aimed and shot at the boy, hoping to delete that confusing existence. He had accepted what he was. He knew what his role was. He knew that he only brought misfortune. He knew that his destiny was to be alone in the darkness. But this boy... this infuriating boy with his confusing words!

"Heh, seems you really were serious about it."

Snapping out of his thoughts, Vincent looked at the boy and saw him backing away from him, a silly but nervous smile on his face as a hand pressed against the fresh scrape on his cheek.

This was how he should have reacted to him in the first place! Fear! The only things people should see him with are fear and disgust! And not, not...

The boy stopped. Looking away, he seemed to be thinking about something. After a pause, the boy looked at him again but this time, the fear was gone.

Vincent didn't know how to react anymore. He simply watched the boy walk towards him and when he was an arm's length away, he stopped and crouched before him.

"Here," he said, holding out his umbrella "You take it. You need it more."

When Vincent didn't do anything, the boy shrugged, took his other hand, the one without the gun, and placed the handle in his palms. Instinctively, Vincent closed his hand around the handle, prompting the boy to nod.

"There, at least now you won't be so cold anymore."

And then, with a grin, the boy was gone.

What in the world just happened?

xxx

When Vincent came to the next day, he couldn't help but stare at the umbrella as if it held all the answers in the world.

He had thought that the boy who had suddenly come and gone was merely a dream. And yet the umbrella was proof of his existence, of that confusing encounter. How could a boy treat him as if—

That was it. It was dark and raining. The boy couldn't have seen the color of his eyes. If he had, if he had... Vincent was sure that the boy would have kept on walking.

Hours went by, and alone in the dark alley, he kept on thinking, trying to convince himself that it wasn't possible. People like Gil didn't exist. People who accept Children of Misfortune didn't exist outside of Baskerville. That boy was merely a figment of his imagination. The umbrella must have been with him the entire time.

And yet, when darkness had set in and just when he had convinced himself—

"Hey, mister! I see you're still in the same place!"

xxx

He came constantly. Night after night, the boy came, bringing light where none had existed.

And because he was bound to be destroyed anyway, Vincent allowed himself this one, small selfishness.

"You're really a strange child."

Munching happily on a pastry, the boy paused as he regarded the statement. Then he shrugged and said, "So I've been told. I don't think anything's strange about me though, for the record."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

Sticking his tongue out, the boy pouted, "How rude! And after I brought you food to eat too!"

"Hmm? You probably stole these anyway."

"Aaargh! Your attitude is really bad, you know! Stop teasing me! You're supposed to be all grateful to this noble knight, who came to save you from—from starvation and, and rain! And utter boredom since you refuse to move from this alley!" jumping down from the crate he was sitting on, the boy stood in front of Vincent and declared, "You should grovel at my feet, commoner!"

The teasing smile he didn't know he had suddenly dropped from his face. So this was it then? Everything was just a child's game of pretend? Had he questioned and confused himself for nothing? It was all the same then... Nothing really had changed. People like Gil really didn't exis—

"Mister, you still there? You suddenly fell quiet."

Vincent didn't look up. "It's nothing. Just tired of the game we're playing."

"Game?" the boy asked, "You mean the bickering? I thought it was really fun though. No one in my house talks to me, well, except Uncle-,"

"No," Vincent interrupted, "I meant this. All of this. Why do you come here? Is it because of pity? Or is it because of an idiotic dream of becoming a noble knight? Am I playing the damsel in distress then? Is that it? Well, this game has gotten tiring. Isn't it about time you find another thing to play with?"

"You're wrong."

The words weren't forceful, but they made Vincent look at the boy just the same. Before him, the boy was looking at him strangely, as if he couldn't believe what he had heard; his fists were tightly closed and his eyes burned like fire.

"You're wrong," he said again, quietly, seriously, "I don't come here because I pity you—well, I do! What human wouldn't?! But it's not just that! I come _because I can_. Now is there something wrong with that?"

"But why me? Why someone like _me_?"

Confused, the boy asked, "Someone... like you? Why? What's wrong with—,"

"You're an even bigger idiot, after all!"

"What?! I resent that!"

"Are you blind, perhaps? I doubt even you wouldn't know what it means. Have you seen the color of my eyes?" Vincent asked, then standing up for the first time, he loomed over the boy as he said, "Look at the color of my eyes. One of them is red. And red eyes mean—,"

"That you're a child of misfortune, right?"

Just as the first time they met, the boy stood his ground against Vincent's threatening presence. Staring straight at him, the boy asked, "So? What has that got to do with anything? I think it's stupid, anyway! Children of misfortune, my ass! It's just a lame excuse to put blame on others! And if you ask me, I think those so-called 'Children of Misfortune' aren't any different from us! So what if you have red eyes? It's not your fault you were born that way! Why do you need to suffer just because the color of your eyes is different? Why—,"

"Because we bring misfortune!" Vincent yelled, surprising the boy, "Because to all those around us, no matter if it's people we hate or love, we bring nothing but misfortune."

"But do you?" asked the boy, "Do you really bring misfortune? Or do the misfortunes happening around you just get blamed on you? There's a big difference, you know. How do you know that you're causing it? How do you know that it's your own fault? You never intended for any of those to happen, right? You don't want to hurt others, right? Then how are you, so different from us? If all misfortunes are caused by people like you, then why do misfortunes still happen even when 'children of misfortune' aren't around? Coincidence or bad luck, I don't believe in any of those! The things happening around us are caused by our own actions. _We_ make our own luck, whether good or bad. That's what I believe in. Being born with red eyes has got nothing to do with it!"

Vincent could only stare openly, struck speechless by this boy yet again.

If he thought like that, then did it mean that he chose to meet this boy? That it wasn't coincidence, or fate, or destiny? Well, whether it was fated or not, whether his decisions had anything to do with it or not, in the end, it was all the same to him—meeting this boy was certainly good. He had destroyed everything he believed in as the truth, and yet, Vincent found himself to be surprisingly thankful. Oh, he knew he was still the same twisted, cruel, and broken person that he was; that wasn't something that could be changed by a few words. Nevertheless, for the first time, he found that he was hopeful. It was a tiny spark; a tiny, infinitesimal spark—but significant all the same.

In front of him, the boy stood breathless from his passionate words, his small fists were clutched tightly and his eyes, those emerald eyes that saw everything, were still burning with righteous anger. Who knew that such a small being could turn the world he had built himself upon to dust? Vincent couldn't help but laugh.

He laughed and laughed, loudly, harshly, until tears fell. Everything he knew about himself. All the truths he had believed in. All of his actions and his reasons for it. They were all meaningless now. What had he been living for all these years? What now is the meaning of his existence, if it wasn't to bring misfortune to others?

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" the boy suddenly answered, to the question Vincent didn't realize he had asked out loud. "Now you're just like the rest of us mere mortals."

"Just like… you?"

The boy nodded, a wide smile adorning his face, "All of us search for the meaning of our existence. That's what Uncle Oscar said. He said that that's what life is all about."

"And if you never find it?"

The boy shrugged, "Uncle said that it doesn't really matter. What matters is the experience we get as we search for our answers. I don't quite understand it yet, but it sounds good, doesn't it? Uncle Oscar is really great!"

As the boy continued singing praises for his uncle, Vincent took the time to think things through.

We make our own destiny, the boy had said. Could it be really that simple?

Chuckling, he leaned against the wall and let himself slide down towards the ground. The boy had stopped talking and was watching him curiously from where he stood.

He had given up on his other life anyway. Perhaps he could give this one a try?

Grabbing a scone from the basket of pastries the boy had with him, Vincent took a bite, genuinely smiled and said, "This is really good. Are you _sure_ you didn't steal these?"

Before taking offence to the words, the boy smiled brightly at him, a knowing gleam in his eyes. Really, this child was not cute at all, Vincent thought.

And as he listened half-heartedly to the boy's complaints, only nodding every now and then to further irritate the boy, Vincent felt lighter.

Was this how it felt like to have a future?

xxx

The days passed surprisingly serenely like that.

He had no home, no money, nothing to his name. And yet, he was… content.

The boy, Oz, would come every now and then, bickering with him as usual. Sometimes, he wasn't on that alley at all. All around him the world was the same, but somehow, slightly different. The stares and harsh words were still the same but where he once scorned those people, now he simply moved on. There was one person who didn't care after all.

Then suddenly,

"Nee, Vincent-san, since you're having a hard time finding work, how about staying with me?"

Vincent blinked. This option never occurred to him at all. But wasn't Oz merely a commoner? If he stayed with him, then wouldn't he be burden?

"Well," Oz continued, smiling sheepishly, "You'd be working for the household, but the pay is great, I think. I don't know if you're okay with that kind of work, since you give off an air of nobility, but, well, at this point, your options are very limited, so—,"

"Wait, aren't you just a commoner?"

Pouting at him, Oz crossed his arms across his chest and said, "I may not look noble and all, and my family may not be considered one by most, and there really isn't anything wrong with being a commoner, but I'm not! Didn't I say already? My name is Oz. Oz Vessalius."

"Vessalius? The house of sinners?"

"Heeeey, don't say that to my face," Oz whined, "In any case, if you're okay with that, you can stay with me!"

What a surprising turn of events! A Vessalius and a Baskerville, friends? …if you could call Oz and himself friends, anyway.

"I don't really care about that. A single person's actions don't mean they're the actions of all. Nevertheless, I don't think it's a good idea," and before Oz could whine about it, Vincent added, "I am a Baskerville after all."

He expected the boy to stiffen and turn away in disgust, to reject him because of the differences in their families, but he should have known better. Instead of acting the way Vincent expected him to, Oz only yelled in _delight_.

"Eeeeeh?! You're a Baskerville?! From the house of the Red-cloaked Heroes?! I knew it! I knew our meeting was meant to be! I've always, _always_ wanted to meet one of you! Always wearing your cloaks when you're outside, never showing your faces, it's _so cool_, and so mysterious! My sister Ada would be so thrilled if she knew I had a friend from the Baskerville household! I can't wait to tell her! Nee, nee, tell me more about you? No, wait! You should _definitely_ come and stay with me! But oh—," he suddenly said, pouting sadly at the ground, "It really is impossible, isn't it? Out of everyone else, a member of the Baskerville household would _never_ befriend a Vessalius. Actually," Oz mumbled to himself, "No one really wants to befriend a Vessalius nowadays; and I heard we weren't that popular to begin with even before Jack. Ah, really! Why must things be so difficult!"

"Ah, I knew it. You truly are an idiot."

"What! _You're_ the idiot, Vincen—,"

"Like I said, I don't really care about that. Jack is Jack. He is not you. And you will never be him, so," Vincent said, frowning as the boy suddenly froze at his words, "Oz being a Vessalius doesn't mean anything to me."

Oz had reacted accordingly, but Vincent felt that something was off about the boy. It lasted only for a moment but something he said had bothered Oz. Before he could ask about it though, Vincent realized that he was actually concerned about the boy. It surprised him so much that he completely forgot about Oz's strange reaction.

"Vincent-san is still the bigger idiot," Oz murmured, snapping Vincent out of his thoughts. Vincent looked at the boy then, and though there was a frown on his face, his eyes were bright with joy.

After Jack Vessalius' failed attempt on opening the Abyss, foiled by the Baskerville and Nightray families, the Vessalius household, which had been struggling for quite some time, was nearly brought to destitution. Their businesses were rejected by the people and no one wanted to work under the Vessalius name anymore. But under the leadership of Zai, the current head of the family, the family businesses slowly began to flourish. The man was smart and shrewd and he knew what to say in every situation. Just as Jack had charm that beguiled people to trust in him implicitly, so did Zai, and he used it for the family. Now, though still branded as the house of sinners, no one could deny the fact that the Vessalius house was becoming more and more influential and more and more powerful.

In any case, if Gil or any from the Baskerville would look for him, they would never think of searching a home of a Vessalius. It was perfect, really.

"If the offer still stands, I would gladly accept it, _obocchama_."

Surprised by the honorific, Oz took a step back and tried to hide his blush by covering his face with a hand. Vincent smiled in delight. Oh, this was going to be so fun! Playfully ruffling the boy's messy amber hair, Vincent leaned in and whispered, "But only if I were to serve _you_, bocchama."

Instead of the spluttering mess he expected of Oz, Vincent was surprised that the boy looked… afraid? After so long, Oz was only afraid of him _now_? But—

"You can't," the boy said, looking at him with an expression he couldn't read, "You can't serve me. Only those who did something wrong are serving me. And other servants would hate you if you're nice to me. So you can't. I'll just sneak in the main house to see you, once in a while. Uncle Oscar would be good to you, and he won't mind your red eye so—,"

"It's," Vincent interrupted, a teasing smile on his face, "a little confusing for me. You say I can't serve you, and that others will hate me if I'm too nice to you—is it because of jealousy? Everyone wants your attention, is that it? Why, I didn't think you'd be so popular, Oz-bocchama."

But Oz didn't take the bait. "Vincent-san, I'm not popular. And like I said, when servants are punished they work in the house I stay in. I," he said, laughing without mirth, "I'm not exactly well-liked. It's like I'm the Vessalius family's version of a Child of Misfortune, if you will."

Now that, took Vincent by surprise. This bright boy, who freely shared his laughter, was considered a child of misfortune? How preposterous. Clenching his fists in unexpected anger, he asked, "Why?"

"Because I'm the bastard son of Lucia Vessalius."

"Lucia? Isn't she—,"

Oz nodded, "The wife of Zai Vessalius, yes."

"Then you're," Vincent said, staring at Oz as if he were seeing him for the first time, "You're the heir of the family. How come I've never heard about this?"

"Well, I'm not surprised," Oz replied, shrugging nonchalantly, "And I'm _not_ the heir. If it were legal, they'd probably lock me up on a tower or something. It's an ultimate shame, after all. Zai's wife, having an affair behind his back. It would be the talk of the century! And," Oz added, wryly grinning at Vincent, "It wouldn't help the businesses. And _that_ is unforgivable."

_No_, Vincent wanted to say, _keeping a child like you away is unforgivable_, but he refrained. That was most unlike him, after all.

"So," Oz said, smiling nervously at Vincent, as if he was expecting to be rejected, "You can't. Serve under the main house instead, Vincent-san."

Ah, how foolish of him. Oz was such a mature boy that Vincent treated him like an adult. But Oz wasn't. He was a child—a strong child, yes, but still fragile nonetheless.

Ruffling the boy's hair once again, Vincent said, "Didn't you once say to me that we made our own destinies? That time, you didn't say it out loud, but you practically told me that I should ignore all the hurtful things said just because of my red eye. _Bocchama_," he said, smiling evilly, "Haven't you heard the saying: You should practice what you preach?"

Breaking away from his clutches, Oz pouted at him and said, "But I do! I don't really care anymore what they think of me—ah, no, that's a lie. But it doesn't affect me as much as it did before! Now I know that Uncle Oscar and Ada will always stay by my side," then he muttered, "Although that brat Elliot said it so rudely," and continued, "I was just worried about you! You don't deserve to be treated unfairly just because of… me. Ah. That rude brat Elliot said something about this too." Looking straight at Vincent, Oz dryly asked, "I shouldn't make decisions for others, shouldn't I?"

Curious about the Elliot character Oz had muttered about, but deciding to put it off for now, Vincent nodded, smiling that same evil smile that he knew sent shivers down Oz's spine. Vincent knew that he sometimes scared the boy, no matter how much Oz tried to hide it. Some habits were hard to break after all. But all the same, Vincent also knew that Oz was doing his best to accept what he was. And that was all that mattered, really. In return, he made it a point to accept the boy's quirks and childishness but still, some were out of bounds. Vincent knew that Oz wasn't just that bright boy that had forcefully barged into his life. Oz had his own darkness that showed itself from time to time. Hearing the child's story of his family, Vincent now knew where it had come from.

Still, that self-sacrificing tendency of his never failed to irritate Vincent.

Wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders, Vincent led him away from alley. Beside him, the boy was tense, probably imagining himself as a doll in Vincent's hands. He honestly hadn't wanted to show Oz that side of his, but the boy had seen anyway. He knew he honestly traumatized the poor boy, but Oz, like usual, stood his ground—_I know that you're more than this_, he simply said. To Vincent, it sounded like a challenge. And though he couldn't quite yet give up the habit, he was getting there bit by agonizing bit.

"Um… Vincent-san, where are we going?"

"Why, to the Vessalius estate, where else?" Vincent answered, "I am very glad to inform you that I am accepting your offer, bocchama. Now, when we get there, you know what to say, don't you?"

"Um," the boy said, looking at Vincent nervously, "That you want to work for the Vessalius family?"

"And?" he prompted, smiling that smile that promised pain.

"A-and," Oz continued, gulping, "That you… want to work for me?"

Patting Oz's head, Vincent nodded, "Good boy. Now lead on. I will be most happy to serve you, Oz-bocchama."

And Vincent, to his surprise, found that he meant it.

xxx

**TBC.**

Next chapter probably around next week :D  
Thank you for reading!


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